Everything You Want
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: Stiles may be the one poisoned, but it's Lydia who feels like she's slowly dying. Otherwise known as: Stiles is poisoned because of the deadpool, Lydia is frantic and the pack is desperate. *Slow build Stydia, canon Stiles/Malia then Stiles/Lydia, season 4 spoilers*
1. By Your Side

_**Author's Note:**_ _Been too long since I wrote some Stydia goodness. Let's set this sometime after Malia and Stiles get together. Spoilers for season four. This will be about two to five chapters, depending on the muse strikes me. Anyways, please enjoy!_

* * *

" _Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"_

― _James Patterson_

* * *

Beacon Hills Memorial is a place she knows all too well.

She knows each curve of the building, where each twisted corridor goes. She can find the best coffee machine and knows which nurses to flatter to get semi-decent food. She knows which chairs are the comfiest for long vigils and which places to pace without getting in the way of someone.

Today, as her heels click on the pristine floor, she wishes she wasn't so acutely aware of this place. She wishes that she had never seen the inside of this cursed building. She vainly hopes that nurses won't recognize, won't lower their gaze in pity, because she's back and she's on the verge of losing someone else important to her.

Just like Aidan.

Just like Alison.

"Lydia." Scott greets, the alpha's arms folded across his chest. His eyes are wild and unfocused and it's almost as if he's vainly trying to keep himself from splintering into a million tiny pieces.

Kira stands alongside him, one hand rubbing circles on her boyfriend's back and the other squeezing his hand. The kitsune shoots her a reassuring smile but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"How bad?" Lydia manages to ask, her voice barely above a whisper, her voice dry.

Scott doesn't say anything for the longest time, as if he needs to gather his strength to voice the diagnosis. Finally, after what seems like a small eternity, he manages to explain, "He was poisoned."

The first impulse is for her to laugh it off. Poison seems so benign compared to the other various ways people have tried to kill them. The Nogitsune and its crazy methods come to mind. Then, there are the clever ways that people have been trying to kill them since they got on the deadpool. Poison immediately brings images of apples and combs to her mind, of true love conquering all, of evil witches being vanquished.

"Someone poisoned Stiles?" She asks again, her mind spinning, trying to make that statement logical. Running a hand through her hair, she grimaces. "There's an antidote then, right?"

"They're looking." Scott murmurs. "But they haven't been able to identify it yet."

"So, what?" Lydia challenges, raising her voice, as the fury she's been storing boils over. "We just sit here? We wait?"

"What else can we do?" Scott snaps, lashing out at her.

"Easy." Kira interjects, eyeing both of them. "Turning on each other isn't going to help Stiles."

Kira's right, of course, and immediately, the anger fades away, replaced by weariness that seems to weigh her very existence down. The adrenaline that she's been running on since she got the phone call is leaving her system and suddenly, she feels exhausted.

"We're going to find who did this." Scott swears, voice low and dark. "I swear, whoever did this, will pay."

"Go search then." Lydia urges him. "I'll stay and keep—"

"Where is he?" A breathless voice inquires urgently from down the corridor.

"Malia." Lydia breathes as Stiles' girlfriend—yes, that's right, she's his girlfriend and she'll be staying by his side, not Lydia—comes running down the hall.

"How is he?" Malia questions urgently and as she's filled in on the situation, Lydia can't help but feel her stomach sink. Her place isn't by Stiles' side. She doesn't have that right nor should she have even expected it.

He chose Malia.

He loves Malia and it was foolish of her to have even hoped for a different outcome.

Even so—

"I'll stay with him." Malia promises and Lydia forces herself to nod her head in agreement.

Lydia needs to go, needs to do something useful, something other than stand here, feeling like a complete idiot.

"I need you to pick up the scent." Scott tells Malia instead. "The Sherriff has a few leads and it will go faster if you and I split up."

Malia blinks a few times, tilts her head to the side as she processes the order, but then finally nods her assent. She glances at Lydia, almost as if she's searching for something, but then finally moves towards the door.

"Give me a minute with him." Malia says softly, not waiting for a reply before she goes in.

"Lydia." Scott starts and the banshee faces the alpha that she's trusted to keep them safe. But tonight, she doesn't see that fearless alpha. She sees a young teenager, terrified of losing someone else important to him. They were all too young for this amount of tragedy. They'd grown up much too fast and seen too much.

But, if she had learned anything, they were survivors, all of them.

"I'll keep him safe, Scott." She swears.

He just nods his head.

* * *

She's never done the bedside vigil before.

She's never really had the opportunity to do so. All the other times, her friends died long from her side—she'd been too busy screaming anyways. Her role as a banshee had always, for some reason or another, taken priority over her friends.

Yet, as she sits next to Stiles' bedside, she can't help but wish that she could be out there with the others. She is useless here, really. She should be researching or chasing down leads—not watching the soft rise and fall of Stiles' chest, not wiping away the sweat on his brow with a moist towel.

It terrifies her to see him like this—so close to slipping away. His skin is a sickly pallor, not unlike that of a corpse and as the poison wreaks havoc on his bloodstream, a fever grows. He's resting at 101 but that's with the fever reduction medicine. When it wears off, he'll shoot back up to 104 or 105.

"Stiles." She murmurs and reaches for his hand, only to jerk it back. This isn't her place. She's not the one who should be comforting him.

His eyes open, dull and unfocused.

"Stiles?" She tries again, trying to keep her voice upbeat somewhat, just in case he can hear her.

His mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound escapes it.

"Stiles? Can you hear me?" She reaches for an ice cube off the bedside table and presses one to his chapped lips. The liquid rolls down his lips and drips onto the hospital gown.

He eyes shut close and Lydia grimaces.

"Hey there." Mrs. McCall stands in the doorway, her eyebrows drawn and eyes filled with pity. The nurse comes into the room and glances over Stiles' monitors and then turns to the strawberry blonde. Placing a warm hand on her shoulder, she asks, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine." Lydia replies quickly, much too quickly for it to be true. Still, she wants to believe that she is holding herself together and not falling into a million tiny pieces. She needs to be strong for Stiles. She needs to keep it together—the pack is counting on her to stay strong and look after Stiles.

"You want me to get you some food—?"

"No, thank you." Lydia forces a well-worn grin onto her peach lips.

An intercom sounds, telling Melissa she has a call on line two.

"Okay, well, if you need me," She gestures to the nurses' station Lydia nods her head. "Okay then." With that, Melissa is down the hall and vanishing around the corner.

"Stiles?" Lydia tries once more, but he's too far gone into his fitful sleep to even hear her. Still, she can't stop herself from reaching for his hand and holding it within hers. He's alive, she has to tell herself, and he will live.

The pack would find the person who did this and they would give Stiles the antidote. And then Stiles would wake up and she could go back to pretending that her feelings for him meant nothing, that she had missed her chance, and that there was nothing she could do now.

Honestly, he and Malia could swear their undying love to each other right in front of her right now if they wanted, and Lydia wouldn't care.

So long as he lived, that's all she cared about.

"Please, Stiles," A tear snakes its way down her cheek. "Come back to me."

Stiles just sleeps on.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** Next chapter, the pack gets a lead, but is it too little too late? Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


	2. Lost

_**Author's Note:**_ _Thanks so much for the two kind reviews and the follows. I know Stydia is a bit underrated, but we Stydia fans must stick together! Anyways, please enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

" _All that I'm asking for_

 _Is that you need nothing more_

 _And nothing comes in between_

 _Our love and it's fragile, see."_

— _Lifehouse, "All That I'm Asking For"_

* * *

Lydia dreams of blood.

Aiden's blood staining her fingertips crimson.

Alison's blood dying the front of her shirt noir.

Even now, in her nightmares, she feels herself drowning in blood. Never her own— _everyone dies around you Lydia—_ but always the blood of someone she loved, someone she could've saved. Is this her fate as a banshee? To always be one step behind her friends, forever screaming at their losses?

"Hey." Stiles stands before her, an easy grin tugging at his lips.

"Hey." She greets, a smiling alighting on her lips. She is sitting on evergreen grass, an endless azure sky expanding out before her. The sun warms her skin and she offers her hand to him.

Tugging her up, he chuckles, "Never picked you as the kind of girl to lie on the grass."

"I'm chock full of surprises." She winks and it surprises her how easy it is to flirt with him, how at peace she feels with him.

"You're beautiful." He tells her, sincere, eyes alight with some deeper meaning. He leans forward, lips about to brush hers and she closes her eyes, ready to finally experience this—

"Stiles?"

She opens her eyes and sees him, on the floor, convulsing, eyes rolling back into his head.

"Stiles!" His name tears out of her throat like a bullet. As she reaches down to try and help him, she knows already that it is too late. She feels the urge to scream bubble up within her and soon it will overwhelm her.

She knows the moment Stiles dies.

It's the moment she begins to scream.

* * *

"Lydia?" Stiles' voice is laden with sleep, slurred by medication, but she can see recognition in those kind eyes.

"I'm here." She can't help but grab his hot hand within her own. "Stiles, it's going to be okay."

She's lying.

She doesn't know whether it will work out, whether the pack will be able to find an antidote or not. She has to have hope though, or she will lose her mind. She has to believe he will be okay because he was wrong back then, all those months ago, it's she who will literally lose her freaking mind if he dies.

"Hey." He manages a shaky smile, rubbing her hand with the pad of his thumb. "S'okay, Lydia." His eyes are already drooping and he is slowly slipping away from her once more.

"I know, Stiles." She replies, voice cracking. "I know."

And then he's asleep once more.

* * *

Blood. Pain. Grief.

She will be forever alone; drowning in the blood of those she loves most. She was born to be alone. She will die alone.

Blood. Pain. Grief.

This is her fate.

* * *

"Easy."

Lydia wakes up gasping and comes face to face with Sheriff Stilinski.

"Breathe, Lydia." The Sheriff orders her gruffly. "Take it easy." He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder and Lydia forces herself to take a shaky breath and try to calm her rapidly beating heart.

"I'm okay." She assures him, running her hands through her hair, absently trying to remove all the knots from her strawberry blonde hair. Who knows how long she's been asleep in this chair. Her back is stiff and her shoulder sore. She's sure her eyes are red and puffy from crying.

Definitely not the appearance she likes to keep up.

"Good?" The Sheriff asks her and she nods her head. He turns to glance at his son then, his own eyes misting.

"I'll just leave you two." Lydia mutters, once she realizes that she's intruding. "I need to go check in—"

"I can't stay." The Sheriff confesses sadly. "Scott called. He needs my help, but I had to see him."

Lydia glances at the monitors, hopes that the numbers displayed on them are better than they were before she went to sleep.

"I'll be right outside." She assures Stiles' father before turning and exiting the room.

The hallway is filled with the steady litany of coughing, beeping and soft words. It reassures her somehow, ground her after such an awful nightmare. She begins to walk towards the vending machines at the end of the hall when she pulls out her phone and sees she has four missed calls.

"Shit." She curses as she fumbles with the keys to input Kira's number. The kitsune picks up on the first ring.

 _"Lydia?"_ Kira's voice is strained and Lydia's stomach instantly drops.

"What's wrong?" She asks breathlessly. "What's happened?"

 _"He's dead, Lydia."_

"Who?" Lydia snaps, panic causing her to lose her temper.

 _"The man who poisoned Stiles. He died in a car accident. We can't find an antidote."_

"Oh God," Lydia whispers, her voice cracking as her eyes well up with tears. "God, no." She can't breathe, can't get her lungs to expand to take in oxygen. She tries to process the ramifications of Kira's statement, tries to understand how they can save Stiles now.

 _"I'm sorry, Lydia."_ Kira's crying now. Openly. Brokenly. And it causes the dam of sadness to crack open within Lydia.

Stiles is going to die.

 _"Lydia, I'm so—"_

But Lydia hangs up the phone because she can't hear anymore. Suddenly, the air is thick and syrupy around her. The fluorescent lights blind her and the voices seems to overwhelm her ears.

"Stiles is—" Her voice is choked off by a sob and her knees buckles as the tears overcome her.

She can't handle this anymore.

She can't be here anymore.

How many deaths is she supposed to watch? How many more could she handle before it broke her completely?

But she knew that answer already—just one more death.

His death.

"Miss?" A concerned nurse inquires. "Miss, are you okay?"

Lydia forces herself to get up, nod her head, and then she's in the elevator and gone.

Gone completely.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _I know things seem grim now, but hang in there with me! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


	3. Sacrifice

_**Author's Note:**_ _So sorry for the long delay! I got sidetracked by other stories. I'm back! Hope you enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

" _Maybe this was what love meant after all: sacrifice and selflessness. It did not mean hearts and flowers and a happy ending, but the knowledge that another's well-being is more important than one's own."_

― _Melissa de la Cruz_

* * *

This is extremely foolish.

It is a desperate attempt and for sure, a final resort. If the pack could see her, she's sure Scott would berate her, Kira would chide her and even Malia would rant about idiotic this course of action is.

Still, as she sits on her bed, her laptop open and resting on her legs, she knows this is what she has to do. Someone using the deadpool poisoned Stiles. Ergo, it stood a chance that someone else using the list could find the antidote and cure him. She just had to put enough incentive out there—incentive like a banshee on that very same deadpool allowing herself to be captured and killed for the sake of someone else.

For Stiles, she's willing to sacrifice herself. And sure, maybe that's wrong, maybe her life is worth more than his, maybe this will only come back to screw her over, but for right now, she has no other options.

The pack had all but given up. With the trail dying in a fiery car crash, there is little they could do for Stiles.

But Lydia, she could do this. She could save him. She had to try at least.

"Okay," She whispers, flexing her fingers before they touch the keyboard, "Let's do this."

Her message is short and to the point. Anyone who is able to save Stiles and cure him completely will be free to kill her and take the reward without any resistance from her or the pack. Of course, she adds in that medical tests must first clear Stiles completely before she will leave the safety of the pack, but within seconds, she can already see that she has a reply.

 _Got it. Will be done within 48 hours._

And just like that, it's done.

Stiles will be saved—that's what matters. Her feelings for him may be unresolved, her life will be cut short, but she's saved him. That's what matters. That's all that matters to her.

It's funny, she never knew love could make someone act like this—so selflessly. As a child, she'd always assumed love was about tender kisses and sweet embraces and dances at balls. It's not though. It's about putting someone else's needs above your own, of sacrificing your own well being for theirs.

For Stiles, she is willing to do all this and more.

Because she loves him.

It's just a realization that has come too late for her.

* * *

At the hospital, she sees Malia has taken up residence as his bedside companion and though she knows that's Malia's right as Stiles' girlfriend, it still stings. Seeing Kira and Scott outside, she moves to them.

Scott has his head in his hands, his eyes are red from what must be crying and as Kira rubs circles on his back and whispers comforting words to him, Lydia can't help but feel bad that she can't tell them the truth—that Stiles will be okay soon.

So, she forces herself to ask, "Any change?"

Kira glances up first, "He's stable but without an antidote, it's only a matter of time."

"I should be doing something," Scott growls, the tension rolling off him in waves. "There must be something—"

"Scott." Kira cautions softly.

Lydia should tell them what she's done, but she knows Scott will try to undo her work. It's too late for her and the banshee is okay with that. The pack needs Stiles more than her after all. He's the glue that keeps them all together. What good is she, really? All she does is scream. She's always too late to save those she cares about.

No, saving Stiles is for the best.

"I'm sure we'll think of something." Lydia assures the Alpha quietly. "Where's the Sheriff?"

"He's checking out one more lead before he comes here." Scott answers, voice barely above a whisper.

Lydia doesn't know what else to say so she takes a seat next to the Alpha and waits. For what, she's not sure. The cure is coming—she just hopes that Stiles will survive long enough to receive it.

He will, she knows it.

She just needs to have faith.

* * *

It's right after she returns from getting dinner for everyone from the café a few hours later that she sees it—Scott beaming, Kira crying tears of joy—and instantly, Lydia knows what has occurred. She drops the tray of food and can't even bring herself to care before she's running down the corridor and throwing the door of Stiles' room open and she sees the one thing she thought she would never see again.

Stiles, sitting up in the hospital bed, laughing with his father.

"Whoa, Lydia, where's the fire?" Stiles smirks at her and something twists in her heart and she doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or cry, so she settles from crossing the room and throwing her arms around him.

He stiffens a bit—surprised, she thinks, by her reaction—before returning her embrace. His voice warms her, like a blanket on a freezing winter night, as he tells her, "I'm okay, Lydia."

When she finally lets go and looks at him—really looks at him—she can see that the color has returned to his once pallid skin. He still has the dark bags under his eyes from the exhaustion the fever took on him, but with a few more hours of sleep, he should be back to normal.

"The poison is gone?" She questions sharply, more worried than she cares to admit.

"Uh, yeah," Stiles shrugs, "They're running a few more tests to be sure, but I guess I was able to flush it out of my system."

She nods her head and accepts that solution, "Yeah, I guess so." Then, glancing at the Sheriff, she moves back towards the door, "Well, I'll see you later—"

"Lydia, wait."

She stops in the doorway and she can see Stiles' brows knitted together, like he's trying to piece together the very last little bit of a puzzle.

"Yeah?" He knows her sometimes better than she knows himself, but there's no way he could figure out what she's done. At least, not before it is too late.

"It's nothing." Stiles finally dismisses.

And without another word, Lydia walks out of the hospital room.

* * *

 _Antidote administered. Where should we meet?_

She regards the message with a bit of dread. She knew, of course, that this moment would come, but foolishly, she'd hoped that something would've come up to spare her.

Then again, the one thing she wanted to protect is alive. Her life is a small price to pay for that. And if he can go on smiling and laughing like he was in that hospital room, then that's all she could ask for.

Typing back her reply, she quickly shuts the laptop. It's late and her mother has already gone to bed. Visiting hours have long since passed at the hospital, but breaking in won't be too difficult.

She has one more stop to make before it's over.

One final goodbye.

* * *

Stiles is asleep and as she slowly closes the door behind her, she can tell that he won't awaken. He's exhausted from his ordeal and the medicine they are still pumping through his veins is probably ensuring he get his rest. Which is perfect because she's not the one for big teary farewells.

Lydia just had to see him once more.

She places her hand on top his and wonders what it would've been like if she had not been so foolish and oblivious to her own feelings. What kind of couple would they have made? Where would they have gone on their first date? How long would they have dated?

She'll never know the answer.

But as she sits here beside him, she closes her eyes and just wills herself to pretend. Pretend like they're normal teenagers, like this isn't the last time she'll see him. Tomorrow, she'll get up and go to school and he'll tease her about her academic accomplishments and she'll offer to tutor him in chemistry. They'll eat lunch with their friends and when the final bell rings at the end of the school day, she'll work up the nerve to tell him how she feels.

But's it's only a fantasy and reality is much crueler.

She needs to go. She has a deal to fulfill.

Rising from the chair, she forces herself to let go of Stiles' hand. Then, before she can fully process what she's doing, she presses a kiss to his forehead.

"Goodbye, Stiles." She whispers as she pulls back, just inches away from his face. A tear rolls down her cheek but she doesn't wipe it away. "I love you."

There, she said it.

Too bad he'll never know.

It takes all of her strength to leave that hospital room, but as the door shuts behind her, she locks all her grief deep within herself. Now, it is not the time to cry.

It's time to end this.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _I think there will be two more chapters left. We'll see. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


	4. Regret

**_Author's Note:_** _I've missed writing about Stydia! How many more days until the next season? Too many. Thank goodness for fanfiction!_

* * *

 _"I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations — one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it — you will regret both."_

 _― Søren Kierkegaard_

* * *

The park isn't as dark and creepy as she expected to be. As she moves to stand under the lone streetlight, she listens to the wind pushing the swings beside her. The playground is empty now, but the plastic play castle is a bit worse for wear with cracks and scribbles over the material. It's interesting how normal Beacon Hills is, with its parks and playgrounds. Lydia is usually so busy running from supernatural creatures that she's never really had a chance to sit and contemplate normal life in this town.

And now she'll never have a chance to do so.

This is her last night alive, after all.

For the record, she doesn't regret sacrificing herself for Stiles. Would she like to live? Yes. But if she could keep Stiles around, then that's her priority. She loves him. She realized that too late, but now that she's accepted her feelings, she's willing to pay the ultimate price to keep him safe.

"You Lydia?" A voice questions as a figure seemingly materializes from the darkness. She can barely make out the young man's face, but under the dim light, she can almost swear that his eyes are glowing.

"Yes." Her voice comes out steady and strong.

"The banshee." He states and she doesn't allow herself to waver. How these people know so much about them—it's terrifying truly. Someone out there put a price on all their heads and for what? Because of who they are? What they represent?

They're teenagers, all of them. They're supposed to be worried about school projects and how to sneak out to parties. Instead, their lives revolve around life and death situations. At her young age, she's experienced more traumas than anyone should in their lives. She's lost loved ones. She's been to too many funerals. She's felt her best friend die and there was nothing she could do—nothing but scream.

And now her life is over.

"A deal's a deal." She mutters. Is she going to die right here, in the middle of this abandoned playground?

"Come with me." He extends his hand out, palm facing towards her.

Her heart speeds up, her breath quickens. She should run away, like her logic dictates. Her fight-or-flight instinct is ramping up, and she hesitates before letting her hand rest in his.

A deal's a deal.

This is the end.

A single tear rolls down her cheek and she wipes it away. As they leave the park, she refuses to look back. She won't allow herself to grieve. This is a choice she made.

And now, she'll die for it.

* * *

Stiles can't help but feel like something is wrong.

Maybe that's the last of the poison leaving his system, maybe that's the drugs keeping him pain free and sedate. His brain is a fog, any coherent thought vanishing whenever he tries to focus on it for more than a few seconds.

"Hey." Scott shuts the door behind him, the alpha smiling somewhat.

"Hey, Scott." Stiles grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Something is wrong—a sense of foreboding is settling into his veins and he can't seem to shake it. Is he just recovering? Is this sense of doom some sort of weird side effect?

"How are you feeling?" He takes a seat in the chair by the bed.

"Fine." Stiles replies.

"Really?" Scott presses, because he knows—he's always known—when Stiles is telling a lie.

"Just a bit weird." He confesses quietly, running a hand through his hair. The I.V. burns a bit as he moves and he grimaces somewhat. He just wants to get out of here and go back to his own bed. He's sick of being sick and lying in this stiff bed, surrounded by the sterile smell of chemicals.

Scott doesn't say anything for a while, but it's not uncomfortable. Their relationship has always been like this—they could spend hours talking energetically about anything and everything, but they also could have moments of comfortable silence.

There's a knock at the door, soft and timid.

"Yeah?" Stiles calls and the door opens as Kira walks in.

The kitsune is biting her lower lip and her cellphone is clutched in one hand. She forces a shaky smile for Stiles, but then turns to Scott, whispering something that Stiles can't quite make out.

"What?" Scott blanches, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Scott?" Stiles sits up, ignoring the waves of pain that his body experiences from such a sudden movement.

The alpha doesn't say anything. He grabs Kira's phone and checks it once more. Shaking his head, he murmurs, "This can't be right."

"I keep refreshing it, it hasn't changed." Kira whispers, her eyes misting and a rock settles in the pit of Stile's stomach.

Something is wrong.

Someone is in danger.

Or worse.

"You've tried to get in touch with her?" Scott questions sharply.

"Of course, I did. She hasn't—"

"Scott!" Stiles snaps, panting, his heart pounding. His mind races, a thousand thoughts trying to be processed all at the same time and failing. "What is going on?"

Scott is a lot of things—a protector, a trusted ally, and a friend—but he could never lie to Stiles and get away with it. That's why Scott never tries. But at this moment, Stiles can see him hesitating between the truth and a lie and that's more terrifying than Stiles can convey.

"Scott."

Kira places a hand on his shoulder and the alpha meets his girlfriend's gaze, a silent message being conveyed between the two. With a sigh, Scott hands Stiles Kira's phone and quickly, the teen begins to read the screen.

It's the dead pool, a list of their names, and there's nothing really remarkable about it—

 _Lydia Martin—eliminated._

"What?"

 _Lydia Martin—eliminated._

He punches in Lydia's number, trying to keep breathing, trying not to panic, but he can't breathe and the air is so syrupy—

She doesn't pick up.

"Stiles—" Scott begins, but Stiles needs to go, get out of this hospital and find her and save her because she can't be dead, she just can't be—

He just saw her.

Yesterday, she had stood in this room and she'd smiled at him. She'd been here—alive. She couldn't be—gone. She just couldn't.

"I have to." Stiles mutters, tossing off the blankets and reaching for his I.V.

"Stiles, no—" Kira reaches for him, to try to stop him, but he jerks away from her.

"Stiles, Malia and I are going to look for her. We'll find her! She wouldn't want you to—" Scott presses

But it doesn't matter.

None of this matters if she isn't alive.

It's always been like that, ever since the day he first saw her in third grade. He's loved her ever since then, but over the past few years, it's developed into more than love, it's a profound friendship, a deep connection.

She's his anchor and without her, he is adrift, left to hopelessly drift in the strong current of the ocean.

 _Lydia Martin—eliminated._

This isn't supposed to be happening. She can't be dead. She just can't.

Because if she's dead . . . it'll only be a matter of time before he dies too.

"We'll find her, Stiles." Scott promises.

"I know," Stiles whispers, "That's why I'm coming with you."

Damn his health, damn the consequences—he can't stay here and wait for news. He'll bring her back safe and sound.

"Stiles—" Kira presses.

"I'm coming!" Stiles growls.

"Okay," Scott relents softly, "Okay, Stiles."

And with a quick tug, Stiles disconnects his I.V.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_** _I'm going to try and be better about my updating speed. Hopefully no more long delays. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


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